Card Castles In The Sky
by Flaming Trails
Summary: Forgotten Vows Verse: Side Story. When her husband brought her and their manservant Alan to London to visit some old friends of his, Victoria White didn't expect to run into the city's most infamous madwoman - or her old fiance. Set directly after Chapter 16 of Forgetting You and running through the end of Chapter 18.


Card Castles In The Sky

A Corpse Bride/"Alice: Madness Returns" Fanfic

By Flaming Trails

October 22nd, 1875

Bow Street Police Station, London's East End, England

2:32 P.M.

"Ooof!"

Victoria White staggered slightly as she grabbed Miss Liddell before the young lady's head could hit the pavement. _She's heavier than she looks,_ Victoria thought, adjusting her grip on the slight woman. "Miss Liddell?" she asked, voice higher than usual from worry and fright. "Miss Liddell!"

Miss Liddell didn't respond. Victoria resorted to shaking her out of desperation. "Miss Liddell!"

Still nothing. It was apparent that, whatever had sent the poor girl into this fainting fit, she was down for the count. Victoria sighed. "Oh dear – now what?" She wasn't about to leave Miss Liddell on the street – what kind of barbarian would do that? Unfortunately, a lifetime spent doing proper young lady things meant she wasn't exactly built for carrying people either. She glanced left and right, but none of the passers-by seemed particularly inclined to help. In fact, a couple of people were giving the two women dirty looks, as if they'd been caught performing some indecent act. Victoria responded with a glare of her own. Was it really so much trouble to offer aid to a pair of ladies in distress?

"Victoria?"

Relief washed over her. "Christopher! Could you help me, please?"

"What's happened?" Christopher asked, hurrying to assist his wife. He frowned at the unconscious woman in her arms. "Who's this?"

"Alice Liddell," Victoria said, looking back down at her sudden charge. Miss Liddell's head lolled on her neck, and her face was frightfully pale. "I met her just now on the street – she's a friend of Victor's. We were talking about his current situation, and she was just about to go when she – she just toppled over! I barely caught her before she banged her head on the cobbles."

"Oh dear." Christopher crouched and slipped his arms under Alice, lifting her with a grunt. "She fainted? Just like that?"

"Just like that," Victoria confirmed. "She was rather upset right before she turned away, but I didn't think – oh, I hope I haven't done something terrible to her," she murmured, wringing her hands. "All I wanted was to let her know the truth. . . ."

"Victoria, darling, you're making very little sense," Christopher said, shaking his head. "What truth was she unaware of? How could you have upset her this badly?"

"She didn't – Christopher, they all think Victor's mad!" Victoria burst out, unable to keep it inside any longer. "His parents don't believe him about Emily – they've sent him to a psychiatrist! Miss Liddell here says that he lives with her at the Houndsditch Home For Wayward Youth!"

Christopher raised an eyebrow as he examined Miss Liddell's still form. "She – and he – seem awfully old to be considered 'youths.'"

"That's just what she told me – I don't know all the details. I didn't really give her a chance to explain." Victoria flushed. "I got rather upset when she told me everyone thought his experience with the dead was a mere delusion."

"Everyone? Victoria, you and your parents told me your entire _town_ was involved."

"And apparently every last one of them turned on Victor the moment my family left," Victoria said, feeling a fresh surge of anger. How dare the villagers call Victor mad? How dare they deny that Emily existed? How dare they exile her ex-fiancé to a home that seemed most inappropriate for a young gentleman of his caliber? Once she'd wanted nothing more than to return to the village of her birth – right now, though, she'd consider it too soon if she never clapped eyes on Burtonsville again. "That's not important right now, though – Miss Liddell really doesn't look well to me," she continued, pushing down her unpleasant feelings. "I think we should take her to our rooms and call for a doctor."

"I think you're right," Christopher nodded, adjusting his grip on the girl. "Let's go find our cab, and you can tell me the whole story properly as we go back to the hotel."

* * *

"How is she, Alan?"

"Same as before, ma'am," Alan said, looking up at his employer. "Still lying there silent and still."

Victoria nodded, then brushed a stray lock of hair back into place. "I'm sorry for constantly bothering you with questions," she said, cheeks turning pink. "It's just – she's been unconscious for a while now."

"I understand, Mrs. White," Alan assured her with a little smile. He'd known for quite some time that the lady of his house was a very soft-hearted woman, and prone to worrying. Not that Alan begrudged her such a forgiving, gentle nature. It was most proper in a lady like herself to be so kind and loving. And it made working for her and her husband an absolute dream. Having an employer that was willing to treat one like a member of the family – well, it was more that he ever would have hoped for. _One really has to wonder how the elder Everglots ever produced her,_ he thought. _I guess we can chalk up all the best parts of her personality to that lovely Hildegarde._ "Hopefully Mr. White will return soon with the doctor."

"I hope so," Victoria agreed, clasping her hands against her middle. "It seems to be taking him an awfully long time."

"Over a hour by my estimate," Alan agreed, checking his watch. "It's getting on toward tea time."

"Really?" Victoria stared at the watch, astonished. "So long? In _London_? Goodness, are all the doctors sick themselves?"

"With this air, who knows?" Alan said, wrinkling his nose.

The door of the suite chose that moment to burst open. Alan frowned as Christopher stormed in – the male half of his employers was sporting a deep scowl, with hands clenched at his sides. "Sir?" he asked, rising from his place at the invalid's side.

"Where's the doctor?" Victoria added, looking behind her husband.

"He wouldn't come!" Christopher barked, eyes dark. "It took me forever to find a decent practice – seems most of the men here still think it's appropriate to offering barbering or some nonsense like that on the side – and then once I thought I'd found a good man, the moment I mentioned the patient's name, he told me he wasn't even going to bother! Set down his bag and downright refused to come! I offered him double his pay, but he said–"

Alan did not like the way Christopher suddenly broke off, eyes darting around the room. Neither did Victoria, given the way she folded her arms across her chest. "He said what?" she asked, in a tone that indicated she would not brook any falsehoods.

Christopher sighed, rubbing his forehead. "He said it wasn't worth dealing with the madwoman, and he didn't want to be scarred for life should she wake up in the middle of his examination."

_Madwoman?_ Alan's gaze went back down to Miss Liddell. The young lady lay supine on the couch in the sitting room, eyes closed and face slack. Occasionally her hands would twitch, or her mouth form a soundless word, but that was it. She seemed utterly harmless to him. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand, sir," he confessed.

"Neither do I – did he explain at all?" Victoria asked, eyes wide with shock.

"He did, a bit. Apparently our guest is only a year out of Rutledge Asylum," Christopher said reluctantly. "She's known on the streets as the girl who rants and raves at invisible cats and rabbits and once attacked a pair of orderlies wielding a spoon. Did you ever hear of the Liddell fire?"

Victoria looked blank, but something in Alan's mind clicked just then. "I have, sir," he said, remembering his mother talking to him about why he mustn't play with matches. "My mother showed me the print of the Illustrated News that featured the story. The house of the former Dean of Christ Church in Oxford burned, taking him, his wife and his older daughter with it. A terrible tragedy. His younger daughter was the only survivor." His eyes found Miss Liddell's face again, so pale and worn. "That's her?"

"That's her," Christopher confirmed. "About twelve years older and apparently much worse for wear. I went searching for information on the streets after Dr. Johnson gave me the brush-off. Rumors abound that she killed her own family, either by accident or design."

"How awful," Victoria whispered, pressing her hands over her mouth. "That poor girl. . .I simply can't believe she'd have murdered her parents and sister. Victor would never be friends with anyone like that."

"I would hope not – frankly, I'm not inclined to believe those stories myself," Christopher said. "Your description of her seemed too – sane. And what child would ever be so wicked?" He looked down at their patient, eyes sad. "The doctor seemed astonished she was able to talk to you coherently at all, though. He told me she was becoming infamous for wandering the streets in a daze, unable to tell fiction from reality."

"Well, she hasn't stirred at all from this spot – that's all I can tell you, sir," Alan said, rather shaken by this new flood of information. His employers had taken in a girl known for mad fits and attacking people? There was soft-hearted, and then there was – this.

Victoria, however, was shaking her head, that small streak of stubbornness deep within her now on full display. "She seemed perfectly normal to me – well, up until she fainted," she allowed. "And we can't trust random hearsay. Stories get distorted in the telling. I – I know that very well," she added, some of the fire leaving her. "And so do the rest of you."

They did indeed, Alan had to admit. Awkward silence reigned for a moment as they all recalled the sudden appearance of a supposedly-dead man on their doorstep, asking after his old fiancée. "Yes, fair enough," Christopher said at last, patting his wife's shoulder. "But I did talk to quite a few people after visiting Johnson, and all of them agreed that Miss Liddell was fresh from Rutledge – and looking like she was ready to return to it."

"Do you think we should contact the asylum now, sir?" Alan asked, tugging at his coat. He didn't mind watching over her while she was quiet, but. . .if this girl was going to wake into a psychotic rage, he wanted back-up.

"Oh yes – if only to get a doctor who might be willing to actually treat the girl," Christopher said, rolling his eyes. "Dr. Johnson told me she was under the care of a Dr. Wilson while she was there, so I'll pay a visit and ask for him. He can at least tell us how best to handle her should anything bad happen."

"And I'll go call on the police," Victoria added. As the men looked at her in surprise, she added, "Well, perhaps they'll be of more use than doctors who won't come even when they know how badly the patient needs help. At the very least, they should be able to point me toward the Houndsditch Home for Wayward Youth. Someone's got to inform her landlord and employer where she is. And – and Victor too," she added, braiding her fingers together. "Oh dear, _what_ is he doing at a place like that? I suppose I can understand his parents insisting on therapy if they thought he was mad, but – a home for _children_?"

"I couldn't tell you, my dear," Christopher said, all sympathy. "It seems ridiculous to me too. But that's a good idea – if she really is friends with Victor, perhaps he could render some extra assistance. Surely he's had some experience with these sorts of fits before." He turned to Alan, all business now. "You'll be able to hold down the fort here?"

"Of course, sir," Alan said, resisting the urge to snap off a salute. "No trouble at all. I'll keep watch over her until one of you returns."

"Thank you, Alan," Victoria smiled, touching his arm. "We really do appreciate it."

"Only doing my job, ma'am. Good luck at the station – and at Rutledge, sir."

"Thank you," Christopher said, helping Victoria on with her wrap. "I'll try to be back soon."

"Same here," Victoria nodded. "Feel free to amuse yourself however you wish, Alan."

"Thank you very kindly, ma'am. Safe trip." Alan saw his employers out, then shut the door behind them. "Nice people," he whispered into the wood. "We could use more of them in this world."

He checked once more on the patient – still out, and not looking likely to wake anytime soon (Alan wondered if it was inappropriate to be glad of that fact). Then he began puttering around the suite – adjusting the bedclothes, running fingers along shelves to check for dust, and rearranging the flowers in the vase in the sitting room for best effect. He knew the hotel had maids for this sort of thing, but – darn it, he couldn't just sit there and stare at Miss Liddell. He felt his best when he was keeping busy. _Funny – I thought this would be a pleasant break from some of my work. Now I'm almost longing to be home just for something to do,_ he thought, shaking his head.

After about ten minutes, he ran out of things that could be fussed with. Alan stood in the center of the sitting room, hands upon his hips, tapping his foot on the floor. What now? _Perhaps I should see about room service?_ he thought. _Greeting Mr. and Mrs. White with something to eat after their excursions would be much appreciated, I'm sure. . . ._ He was just about to go and summon someone to order –

When Miss Liddell abruptly sat up.

Alan froze, staring at her as she got to her feet. The young lady still didn't look particularly well – her eyes were wide and unfocused, and she swayed a bit as she stood. However, she didn't seem on the verge of any violence either. Honestly, she looked more dizzy than anything else. "Miss Liddell?"

Miss Liddell didn't respond, instead glancing at the ceiling before turning in a circle. Her expression indicated a deep confusion about where she was. _Which is understandable, I suppose, _Alan thought. _After all, she fainted while out of doors. . . ._ "You're in the White suite, Miss Liddell," he offered up, trying to be helpful. "May I assist you?"

Miss Liddell ignored him – or perhaps she just didn't hear him at all. At any rate, she turned again and started walking toward the master bedroom, giving the walls odd sympathetic little frowns as she went. Alan arched an eyebrow. _Well. Apparently the rumors about her being unable to tell fantasy from reality were true. I wonder which of the others are as well?_ He hurried after her, hoping to keep her from doing any major damage to the rooms in her fugue.

Fortunately for his employers' possessions and hotel bill, it seemed Miss Liddell was mainly interested in walking – she did a circuit around the master bedroom, then another around the mistress's, before heading back the way she'd come. She froze briefly before passing back through the doorway that led to the sitting room, then clenched her fists and muttered something about how "the Queen must be served" before continuing on. Alan kept a close eye on her as she continued to walk, now making faces at the ceiling and floor. _I wonder what it is she's seeing. Somehow I doubt it's Buckingham Palace._ He glanced at a nearby armchair. _Perhaps I can get her to sit and – well, do mad people drink tea? No, perhaps it's better _not_ to give her something hot that she could throw in my face. . .but sitting seems a good idea. Best to keep her quiet, right? _"Miss Liddell, if I could–" he started, reaching for her shoulder.

The scream that issued from her throat nearly knocked him right to the floor. "Go _away_!" she shrieked, leaping away from him and hugging herself. "You're not _real_!"

Alan blinked rapidly, trying to calm his heart's frantic beat. "Not real? I'm the only real thing here!" he protested, then winced. Oh dear, what was he doing, arguing with someone so out of touch with reality? "Miss Liddell, I'm just trying to – where are you going?!"

He spun around as his patient darted past him, running pell-mell toward the balcony. To his relief, she skidded to a stop before she could crash into (and possibly go over) the railing. "Miss Liddell, please!" he called, jogging after her. "I only want to help you!" _For the love of God – pardon my blasphemy – where are my employers? I could very much use some help right now!_

His charge still seemed not to hear him. For a moment, she cringed away from the open air, as if trying to protect herself from some invisible monster. Then her head snapped downward, eyes wide and horrified. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and she collapsed into an ungainly heap. Alan stood over her, wondering if he dared try to help her up. Perhaps it would be smarter to barricade himself in one of the bedrooms and wait for relief? _I wouldn't be surprised if another guest has already summoned the police, thinking somebody was being murdered. . . ._

Miss Liddell suddenly sprang back to her feet, making Alan yelp and stumble backward, landing hard on his bottom. She looked around in fresh confusion for a moment, then spread her arms and closed her eyes. A subtle change seemed to come over her face – fear and worry were stripped away, replaced with confidence and steely determination. Her eyes opened again, but now they had a new glint to them – no longer the eyes of a frightened young mental patient, but those of a practiced warrior. Alan gulped. _Oh no. Keep away from the spoons, keep away from the spoons – _

But Miss Liddell seemed to have no interest in spoons, or even in him. Her gaze was on the sky, marveling at wonders only she could see. She stepped to the edge of the balcony, her lips curling up in a smile. "Not what I expected at all," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "But I will certainly take a Cardbridge over Queensland."

Alan blinked a few times. Cardbridge? What on earth was – maybe he'd heard wrong? But that made no sense either, why would she say anything about Cambridge? He was just about to ask her about it, despite all his common sense yelling that it was much better if she didn't notice he was alive, when she abruptly whirled around, stepped back toward the hotel –

and started climbing the wall.

Alan gaped as his charge mounted the brick, making her way toward the sun. She climbed very well for a young woman in such a poor-looking dress, he noted vaguely. Perhaps she'd practiced on trees in her youth. Not the most lady-like of activities, to be sure, but then hardly anyone was going to accuse Alice Liddell of being the most lady-like of –

_You know she's getting away,_ the more rational part of his brain put in. _The woman you were supposed to be looking after?_

"Damn!"

Alan scrambled to his feet. "Miss Liddell! Miss Liddell, come back!"

But Miss Liddell was clearly beyond hearing him. Alan tried to follow her up the wall, but tree-climbing had never been one of his favorite activities, and he simply couldn't find the same purchase on the bricks. He darted back inside, through the suite and out the front door, stumbling about the hall until he found the stairs that led to the roof. He took them two at a time, panting hard but unwilling to slacken his pace. Miss Liddell already had too much of a head start. _Oh no oh no oh no – _

He burst onto the roof, looking left and right before having to double over and wheeze for a moment. Once he'd gotten his breath back, he stood upright again and scanned the entire mass of concrete with his eyes. "Miss Liddell!"

But there was no sign of her. Alan peered over at the roof next to theirs, and caught a glimpse of a figure running along. He tried to call out to her, but his voice failed him – and before he could get it back, the specter was gone, vanished behind a chimney. Alan groaned, running his fingers through his hair. "Oh no. . . ."

The Whites were going to _kill_ him.

* * *

The Bow Street Police station was not exactly the most welcoming of places, Victoria had to say. It was a rather ugly brown building, with bars on most of the windows and bathed in rather unsettling smells. Victoria knew that there was probably no way of getting around it – the place was one of London's primary prisons, and located closer to the worst of the East End than she'd like – but it didn't make her errand any more pleasant.

Still, she was here for a purpose, and she wasn't about to let poor architecture or mysterious stenches send her on her way. She exited the cab and smoothed her skirts. "Please wait here – I shouldn't be too long," she promised the driver, who nodded and settled back in his seat. Then, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say to the officers, she mounted the front steps and pulled open the doors.

To see a shockingly-familiar figure pacing the elevated floor before her, clenching and unclenching his fists while he scowled at the watching men and women. "Two hours – I missed her by a mere _two hours–_" He suddenly spun on his heel and threw his arms toward the sky. "What else could _possibly_ go wrong today?!"

Victoria couldn't help but gape. Was this – could it really be – ". . ._Victor_?"

Victor Van Dort whirled around as she said his name. He looked much the same as she remembered – black hair smoothed back except for one stray lock that fell over his forehead, large brown eyes set in a pale-even-for-Burtonsville face, and taller than almost everyone else in the room. But – in the short time she'd known him, she'd _never_ seen Victor carry on so. He'd always been so soft-spoken and shy, prone to stumbling over his words. Even when facing down Barkis, he hadn't made any grand speeches or gestures – he'd barely raised his voice. And now she found him ranting and raving in the middle of a police station? _Oh Victor, what _have_ they done to you here?_

Victor stared at her a moment, apparently as stunned to see her as she was to see him. ". . .You have got to be kidding me," he blurted.

"I'm thinking much the same, if I'm honest," Victoria confessed, mounting the steps up to the main room. "Goodness, what's _happened_? I've never seen you like this before."

Victor groaned, pressing his head into his hand. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding more like himself. "It's just – a friend of mine has been missing for a while, and she was supposed to be here, and–"

And this would be quite the coincidence, wouldn't it? "Are you talking about Miss Liddell?" Victoria asked, taking a chance.

Victor's head snapped back up. "What – how do you–"

"I met her just a little while ago, not far from here," Victoria said, resisting the urge to smile. It was hardly appropriate given the situation, but she couldn't say she wasn't pleased to be able to give Victor news about his friend. It was obvious that the poor man was quite stressed. "She and I got to talking, and she said she knew you. And that you were living at–" Victoria stopped, all traces of happiness leaving her. "Are you _really_ at a place called the Houndsditch Home For Wayward Youth?"

"Yes – it's a long story," Victor said, rubbing the back of his head. "And it can wait til later – you saw Alice? How was she? Did she seem – c-coherent?"

Uh-oh. It appeared those rumors Christopher had heard had had more truth to them than Victoria had wanted to think. "Well. . .yes," she said, biting her lip and unable to quite meet his eyes. "Up until the point she fainted."

Victor's face fell – obviously that hadn't been what he'd wanted to hear. "Where is she now? Do you know? Please, Victoria, tell me you know," he begged, clasping his hands before him tightly.

Well, at least she could ease his mind on that front. Somewhat. "Actually, she's with me and Christopher – after she collapsed, I couldn't just leave her on the street," she explained, hands twisting themselves together almost of their own accord. "So we took her back to our hotel room – we're here visiting some friends of his, you see. She's not awake yet – or, at least, she wasn't when I left. I came here looking for some help since the doctor Christopher summoned refused to come when he said who the patient was." Victoria resisted the urge to add a nasty comment about said doctor, instead spreading her arms in a kind of shrug. "I honestly had no idea she'd come straight from the station."

"Yeah, we'd just released her after picking her up as a public nuisance," one of the watching officers said in a gravelly voice, sounding embarrassed. "Didn't want Bumby after me for keeping her overnight again."

"Who?"

"The proprietor of Houndsditch – do you mind if I come back to your room with you?" Victor asked, eyes wide and worried as he moved a bit closer. "I've got to get her back to the Home – or at least keep her from wandering off again."

"I'll come too – my fault the little chickadee was set free from her cage," the officer added, tipping his hat at Victor. "I am sorry, Master Van Dort. I thought she stayed herself for longer than she did after her – episodes."

"It varies, I'm afraid," Victor sighed. "But you should always guess on shorter rather than longer. I learned that the hard way."

Victoria looked between the pair, feeling her nerves start to tremble. Oh dear – she'd gotten herself into a much worse situation than she'd first imagined, hadn't she? All she'd wanted to do was help some unfortunate young lady that knew the man she'd once loved, and now she was wrapped up in madness and criminal behavior. "Well, you're certainly welcome to come with me and fetch her," she assured them. "Though I confess I'm a little lost on the specifics. Christopher told me that there's rumors that she can't tell fantasy from reality. . .she isn't – _dangerous_, is she?" _I couldn't believe someone so small and fragile-looking could attack anyone, particularly with a spoon. . .but then again, Victor successfully dueled Barkis with a fork, didn't he? And I left Alan alone with her! I know he could defend himself if she tried anything, but still. . . ._

"Only to herself, most of the time," the officer told her. Victoria wondered if it was horrible of her to feel relieved. "Has these funny fits where she wanders around thinking she's somewhere else. Ain't that right, Fred?"

Another policeman sitting at the front desk nodded. "Aye," he agreed. "Before I brought her in, some bloke came in to tell me he'd seen her. Said she'd been screaming about the National Railroad ripping up her head."

"Infernal Train," Victor corrected.

"Yeah, that – wait, how'd you–"

"She told me about it, the last time she was herself." Victor shook his head, shoulders slumped as if he was carrying the weight of the world. "Please, every minute we delay is another minute something can go wrong. Let's just go – I'll explain everything to you on the way there, Victoria."

"All right," Victoria agreed, feeling a wave of sympathy for her former love. "My cab is right outside." She reached out and took his hand briefly, not caring that it might be inappropriate for a married woman to be so forward with a former suitor. Victor looked like he desperately needed the comfort. "You'll be back with her soon enough."

"I hope so," Victor mumbled. "She's been gone nearly a week, and – and every time I think about the d-danger she might be in, I. . . ." He trailed off, unable to put his worries into words.

Victoria gave him an encouraging smile. "Well, she shouldn't be in any now," she reassured him. "My manservant Alan is keeping watch over her – and I _know_ he wouldn't let anything happen."

* * *

"Sir, she's gone!"

Victoria had realized the moment she'd seen Alan's face that everything had gone downside-up, but it was still a shock to hear the words. _Oh no – I just had to tempt fate, didn't I?_ she thought with an internal wince. _I might as well have said "according to plan."_

"What?!" Victor darted in front of her and grabbed Alan by the shoulders, expression frantic. "Where did she go?"

"On the roof! Or at least that's what I thought, I can't find any sign of her now–"

"The _roof_?" Victoria repeated, staring. All right, that was a wrinkle she hadn't been expecting. "Alan, what _are_ you talking about?"

"Not long after you and Mr. White left, Miss Liddell stirred," Alan explained, looking for all the world like he wanted to just sink into the floor. "I thought she was feeling better, but she didn't respond when I spoke to her. Instead, she just started wandering randomly through the suite, muttering to herself. I attempted to guide her to a chair, but she screamed when I tried to touch her and fled out onto the balcony. I followed, only to find her staring out at the sky like she'd never seen it before. Then she mumbled something about – Cambridge?" Alan ran his fingers through his hair, although all that did was throw it into even more of a state. "Honestly, it sounded more like 'Cardbridge' – and then–" He flung an arm skyward. "She climbed right up the wall! I was too shocked to do anything at first, and when I finally got my wits back about me, she was already halfway to the top! I raced up there as fast as I could to try and catch her, but she – she'd disappeared by the time I made it." He groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I'm so sorry, it's just – how often do you expect a lady recovering from a swoon to make like a spider up the side of the building?!"

"When it's Alice, more often than you'd think," Victor's officer friend, who'd introduced himself as Harry Hightopp on the ride back, said with a shake of his head. "Ain't your fault, sir. I've chased her over rooftops meself – she's a crafty one when it comes to high places. Seems to know every secret way to get from one house to the next."

Victor slumped against the nearby wall, groaning. "Oh no. . .I was so close. . . ."

"She might still be around," Christopher said, ever the optimist. "Alan, come with me – we'll check the buildings on either side, see if anyone's seen her."

"Right, sir." Alan looked at Victor, fiddling with his jacket lapels. "I – I am sorry, Master Van Dort. I understand you're a friend?"

Victor nodded. "It's not your fault," he assured Alan. "Like Constable Hightopp said, she's got a way of slipping away from one. . .and you didn't know about her – delicate state of mind. Or, at least, not as much as you ought." He ran a hand down the side of his face, frowning thoughtfully. "Cardbridge – no, she's never mentioned that before. Must be a new one. . . ." He straightened up again, his expression changing to one of fierce – if rather tired – determination. "You two search the buildings on either side, and I'll take the street," he said, looking between Christopher and Alan. "Surely someone's–"

"You look like you could use some tea," Victoria interrupted, placing a hand on his arm. The poor man seemed utterly worn out by this turn of events already. And, perhaps a bit selfishly, Victoria didn't want him running off just yet. They hadn't talked in months, and there was quite a few things she wanted to discuss. Not the least of which was what in God's name was wrong with his parents. "How about I call for a pot while they go out on the search?"

"I think tea _would_ be better for your nerves, Master Van Dort," Constable Hightopp said before Victor could reply. "I'll go out with Mr. White and Alan here and start pounding the pavement. No good rushing around without any information, eh?"

Victor frowned, looking like he was about to protest. Then the fight went out of his face, and he sighed and nodded. "All right – I'll see you when you get back then," he said reluctantly. His face hardened again. "But after I have a cup, I'm joining you three. The more eyes, the better."

"Right," Hightopp nodded, then tipped his hat to Victoria. She returned it with a curtsy. "We'll return shortly, ma'am. Sirs, if you please?"

"I'll have a pot sent up from the tearoom," Alan said as Christopher led the way into the hall. "I was going to order room service for you anyway, before the – incident."

"Thank you, Alan, it's much appreciated," Victoria said gratefully. So attentive and kind – one really couldn't ask for a better manservant than this fellow.

Alan nodded, shot one last apologetic glance at Victor, then closed the door behind him, leaving Victor and Victoria alone. Faced once more with her former fiancé one on one, Victoria suddenly felt very shy. How did she start off this conversation anyway? If she were at home she'd at least have a knick-knack or two to fuss with while she thought. . .she made do with brushing traces of lint off her skirts. "Please take a seat," she encouraged Victor. "I don't feel right leaving you standing."

"What about yourself?" Victor asked, although he did obligingly slump over to the nearby armchair, dropping into it with a heavy thump. Poor man, he was taking this development hard. Not that Victoria could blame him.

"I'd prefer to remain standing – be ready to receive the tea when it comes," Victoria said, glad of that small excuse. It was bending the rules of propriety, but Victoria had found those to be much more flexible than Maudeline Everglot had ever said. Besides, they'd already broken every rule when he'd shown up in her bedroom, surely – was that really almost a year ago? Goodness. And now her old beloved was finding himself chasing a woman instead of being chased by one. How things changed. "I'm sure they'll come up with something, even if they don't find her," she offered up encouragingly, attempting a smile.

Victor didn't even look at her, eyes seemingly fixed on the carpet. The lost, almost defeated expression on his face would have melted even the stony heart of Pastor Galswells. "I doubt it," he muttered, voice droopy. "She has a remarkable ability to vanish whenever people are looking for her. I know – I've been practically all over London in my attempts to keep an eye on her. The most we'll probably hear is stories of her shouting at nothing and nearly falling off a roof."

What did one say to that? Victoria had no idea. She absently pulled on her left sleeve as she tried to come up with an appropriate response. _You are being a very poor hostess,_ a voice that sounded much like her mother scolded her. _A real lady does not leave her guests waiting for a reply._

_A real lady does not have to deal with women out of Rutledge and former fiances thought madmen,_ Victoria shot back. _So leave me alone to think!_

Victor sighed again, and lifted his head to look at her at last. "I never did ask what happened to Hildegarde," he said suddenly. "Is she still in the employ of your parents?"

Ah – now this was a topic Victoria felt comfortable in discussing. "No, actually – she's on a prolonged visit to see each of her children and grandchildren," she explained, quickly tugging her right sleeve down to match her left. "She told me that seeing the dead rise made her realize just how little time she might have left in the Land of the Living and that she wanted to make sure she'd told all her family how much she loves them before the inevitable." She gave Victor a tiny but genuine smile as she thought about how excited her old maid had been as they'd seen her off just before her and Christopher's short honeymoon. "There's five children and at least ten grandchildren scattered across England, all of which she hasn't seen in a while, so I don't expect her back before Christmas."

Victor smiled back. "Oh, that's lovely," he said. "I'm glad that incident inspired something so heartfelt on her part."

"Me too." Victoria's smile faded. "Unlike it did with your parents." Oh, she'd meant to lead up to this more, somehow come around to it obliquely, but now that the words were in the air – well, she simply couldn't keep her feelings bottled up inside. She spun to face him head-on, hitting him with something that was almost but not quite a glare as her hands squeezed the top of her skirt. "Victor, why didn't you _tell_ me they didn't believe you? I would have stood up for you! My parents too, oddly enough! You didn't have to face them alone and be sent to – to a place that seems just shy of an asylum!"

Victor moved back in his seat, clearly startled – and judging by his eyes, just a little guilty. Perhaps that last had been a bit much, but – darn it, she was upset. How could he have kept such a thing from her? After what they'd shared! "I know you would have," he assured her, fiddling with his tie. "It just – it didn't even cross my mind to tell you. I was still too in shock after hearing the news of your w-wedding." He sighed deeply, face falling into a scowl. It was an odd look on him. "Besides, the chances of them actually listening to you were remote at best. Mother had gotten it into her head that I was insane, and nothing was going to change that fact short of Emily rising up again right in front of her face. And even then, it's likely she would have accused me of staging it."

"Oh." Victoria sighed. She had to admit, that all made sense. She'd certainly been too stunned to think properly during his visit. And while she didn't know much about Nell, Victor's description of her stubbornness seemed to fit what evidence she'd seen. Unfortunately, none of that did much to alleviate her own guilt. "Still. . .I wish I could help. It's not right that they think you're mad."

"It isn't, but I'm learning to live with it," Victor said, rubbing the back of his head. There was a knock on the door just then – Victoria quickly put her dress to rights and answered it. A young lady presented her with a tea tray with all the various fixings – Victoria thanked her, telling her to come back in a hour. "I'm actually planning on leaving the Home once I get the chance," he continued, tone a little more hopeful as she closed the door and delivered the tray to the table. "I'm searching for a job so I can build up the funds for my own flat. Mother and Father won't like it, but I–" He shook his head irritably. "I'm tired of dancing to their tune!"

Oh, that was a feeling Victoria knew well. Not for the first time she found herself thanking God that she was out of her parents' house and not subject to Mother's rules anymore. "I sympathize," she nodded, sitting down across from him. "But surely you're not going to move until you've found Alice again."

"No – someone's got to look after her, and I no longer trust Dr. Bumby to keep her demons at bay," Victor grumbled. "I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when I first met him, but now. . . ." He looked at her with an expression much like her mother would have upon encountering dog business in the street. "He's awful, Victoria, he really is. He rides roughshod over everyone's desires in therapy, he absolutely refuses to listen to any opinion that's not his own, he makes the children wear _numbers_ for some convoluted reason of 'patient privacy' that I'm not sure I believe, and whenever he tries to be charming, he–" his face wrinkled even more "– he comes off a little like Lord Barkis, honestly."

Victoria winced. "Really? Oh dear. . .he sounds lovely," she added, unable to help a bit of sarcasm leaking into her voice. "No wonder you want to get away."

"And get Alice away, if I can," Victor told her, still looking disgusted. "I swear, she was doing better before he started stuffing pills down her throat and insisting on extra sessions. And his only response to her hallucinations has been recriminations and threats to send her back to the asylum!" He let out a frustrated huff. "I'm starting to wonder if he knows how to do his job at all."

"So am I, and I've never even met the man." Victoria checked the tea – yes, just the right color. She removed the cozy in preparation for pouring. "Though perhaps I should – someone corroborating your story _ought_ to help you get away from him, shouldn't it?" she added. It had helped with Alice, after all – not that she expected such a dramatic reaction from this Dr. Bumby. "You hardly deserve to be stuck in that horrible place."

Victor made a face, fidgeting in his seat. "I don't know," he said. "I'm not exaggerating how stubborn he is, Victoria – he's worse than my mother, and she could outstubborn your average donkey. He might just consider you as crazy as I am. And even if you _did_ convince him – there's no way around telling him that I genuinely _did_ try to marry Emily, is there? I mean, you'd have to say that you last saw us at the church, with me about to drink poisoned wine. . .he'd probably seize upon that as a sign of mental instability."

"Oh come now," Victoria grumbled, frowning at him as she poured their cups. "Surely you've convinced him you have no desire to – go Below, right?" _At least, I hope you don't. . . ._

There was a moment of silence, then Victor took a deep breath. "That's not the main charge against me, Victoria," he said, every syllable smothered in reluctance. "Necrophilia is."

Victoria thought she deserved some sort of medal for not dropping the teapot. "_What_?!"

Victor nodded, his expression consistent with one about to vomit. "Father's fault, really – apparently the town crier announcing I'd eloped with a corpse gave him – ideas," he said, biting his lip. "I've told them time and time again, there was no – I didn't – but they – w-well, telling them that I _w-wanted_ to marry Emily wouldn't help my case even if they were convinced she was real."

"No, no, I can see that," Victoria said, still rather stunned. Oh God, and she'd thought people thinking him _suicidal_ was the worst that could be said about him! This was – how could _that_ cross any proper-thinking person's mind? "Goodness. . .but surely there's something I can do? I couldn't try just once with your parents?"

"You could, but – Mother seems to dismiss everyone who backs me up as having been 'infected' by my own madness," Victor grumbled. "And honestly, she'd probably just go at you for marrying someone else in my absence. I wouldn't wish that on–" He stopped, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "All right, perhaps I'd wish something of that nature on Bumby, but no one else. Particularly not you."

"A – a loan, then? We should be able to afford to give you enough to get you out of the city–"

"I appreciate it, but I'm going to have enough trouble with my parents when I get my job and go off on my own – I don't want to drag you into it," Victor cut her off. "Besides, I – I kind of want to do this by myself as much as possible. I feel like I haven't learned how to stand on my own two feet properly. Everyone treats me like a child here, and I want to prove them wrong. And like you yourself said, I'm not leaving that Home until I know Alice is safe – and while I'm sure you're willing to help me smuggle her away, the fact remains that, while Wonderland seems to be her best way of solving her problems, she needs that bit of extra help in the real world too. She keeps wandering off into dangerous situations, and – I don't know if me alone is enough to stop her." He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "And all the help in the world is useless if we don't know where she _is._" His gaze went back to her. "I appreciate it, Victoria, I really do, but – I'm afraid this isn't your fight."

Victoria scowled. Victor's reasons all made sense – and she hated them for it. "I wish it was," she muttered. "I hate feeling like my hands are tied!"

"I hate it too," Victor sympathized. "Trust me – you and Christopher taking in Alice, and helping me look for her now? That's more than almost anyone else has done." He gave her a smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome – it's only what a decent person would do," Victoria said. In softer tones, she added, "You sound like you really care for her."

"Of course I do – she's my best friend," Victor replied, his smile growing wider. "I never thought I'd meet anyone like her. She's intelligent, and strong, and imaginative – oh, Victoria, you should _hear_ her stories about Wonderland!" he cried, leaning forward. "They're just incredible! Every time she starts one, I've got to grab my sketchbook, because otherwise my fingers _itch_ to illustrate what she's talking about. She's got mechanical ladybirds that tote around exploding acorns, and fish that are practically half-frog, and a Cheshire Cat that never stops grinning, and a Mock Turtle that cries no matter his mood, and whole kingdoms made up of living cards and chess pieces. . .I've never been so inspired in my life! And she listens to me go on about the Land of the Dead – about Emily and Bonejangles and all of them – and while she doesn't really believe me, she's only too happy to play along. She said that if I was mad, it was the gentlest, nicest madness she'd ever seen, and that she hoped the afterlife really was like that for her parents and sister. We've explored practically every street in the East End together, and she's somehow managed to keep me from either making a complete idiot of myself or getting myself killed. Which is hard when Jack Splatter insists on making comments. . . ." His face darkened briefly, then brightened again. "I'm apparently the first person to make her laugh in ages – can you believe that? Me, making someone laugh – and not because I've executed a particularly ridiculous pratfall. And she. . . ." His gaze dropped to his hands, folding and unfolding in his lap. "She's seen me at my worst, found me struggling to escape the d-darkest recesses of my mind – and got me out with the first real hug I've had in ages. She's always there with a friendly ear whenever I need one, and she puts up with all my little quirks and nervous habits. Even said that she liked them. And for my birthday, she – she drew me a picture of Emily's piano in the Ball & Socket. Because she wanted to do something special for me. For _me_." He laughed softly, shaking his head. "When all I want in the world is to do something special for her. To see her happy. See her smile." He gazed off into the distance, eyes turning dreamy. "She's got the most gorgeous smile I've ever seen."

Victoria stared at him, milk quite forgotten in her hand. That speech – she'd _never_ expected him to go on like that about anything. It seemed completely antithetical to everything Victor was. And the look on his face – lost in the clouds, all softness and warmth. . .a captivated smile on his lips. . .her mind went back to his confession in her bedroom, and the way he'd looked at Emily when he'd started the corpse bride's vows. His gaze had been gentle enough then, his smiles genuine, but – there hadn't been quite this much feeling behind them. Quite this much adoration. This was stronger than what he'd had with either of them – nothing held back, nothing muted by the fact that they'd only spent a few hours in each other's company without a chance to really talk. This was – this was –

Victor finally came back to himself, blinking as he took in her face. "Oh – t-that was q-quite the speech, wasn't it?" he said, hands going toward his tie once more. "I'm sorry, I–"

"You're in love," Victoria whispered.

A brilliant pink blush lit up his cheeks. It was rather adorable. "Am I really that obvious?" he asked shyly, rubbing the back of his head.

"When you go on like that, you are," Victoria said, fighting back giggles. This was wonderful! It was all she'd ever wanted for him – to find someone who could take the place in his heart she'd left empty and cold. "Oh, Victor, I'm so happy for you! Getting to know someone really does make all the difference, doesn't it?" she added with a playful wink.

"It does," Victor said, laughing. He turned serious again quickly, though. "I don't mean any disrespect to you and what we nearly had, of course. I liked you from the moment I saw you. But Alice. . .I've really bared my soul to her. The way I feel – it's–"

"More complete?" Victoria nodded, still smiling brightly. "Trust me, Victor, I understand." Her thoughts went to Christopher, and all the secrets and happy moments they'd shared in the short time they'd been married. Oh yes, she understood completely. "And you haven't offended me in the slightest. I'm just thrilled that you've found someone who makes you feel like this."

Victor grinned at her – then, for no apparent reason, sighed and dropped his head back toward the floor. "Not that it matters, though," he said, back to his defeated voice. "She's still terribly ill – her mind just won't stop tormenting her. And even if it wasn't, I – I wouldn't say anything."

Victoria blinked, taken off-guard by this sudden change in mood. She supposed she understood why he wouldn't say anything now, but – not even if she were well? "Whyever not?"

Victor's eyes flicked up to her. "She'd – she'd never feel the same way about me," he said, somehow managing to sound even more depressed than before. "She thinks she's cursed to have everyone she loves die violently. I'm shocked she's even allowed me to be her friend. And really, the way she is – so strong, so – _vital_ – she'd never want someone like me even if everything in her life wasn't completely topsy-turvy."

. . .He did not seriously believe that. After everything that had happened earlier in the year, he could not – Victoria folded her arms, giving him a hard look. Suddenly it seemed rather more plausible that he'd lost his mind. "Victor, that is the silliest thing I've ever heard."

Victor looked up, frowning. "Why?" he asked in tones of 'you're seriously going to argue this?' "You've met her. Surely you've seen–"

"What I saw was a nice young woman who, while needing to be properly informed about your mental state, clearly cared about you a lot," Victoria cut him off, eyebrows low. How could he be this ridiculous? You didn't – you _couldn't_ bottle feelings like that up! And Alice – she hadn't spoken to her long enough to determine how she felt about Victor romantically, but the easy way the girl had talked about him had at least suggested she liked him. Not to mention her extreme reaction to being told she was wrong in thinking Victor mad. "The moment I explained things to her, the first thing she did was whirl away saying she needed to find you – most likely to apologize. I bet if she hadn't fainted she would have burst through the door of Houndsditch ready to beg your forgiveness."

"Well, that may be so, but–"

"I'd also like to note that you've already known two women who very much wanted to marry you based solely on first impressions," Victoria added, mentally daring him to refute that one.

Victor looked at her a moment, then turned his eyes toward the ring adorning her finger. "Neither of whom actually ended up marrying me," he said matter-of-factly. "In fact, one realized she didn't truly need to get married to be set free, and the other is now a proponent of longer courtships and marrying friends."

. . .Fine, perhaps he could refute it. Victoria fought down her blush without much success. "All right, fair enough," she allowed, then leaned forward, unwilling to give up the fight. "But Victor, it's clear as day you're in love with the girl. She's going to figure it out eventually even if you don't say anything. And frankly, thinking about it, you not telling someone about your actual feelings is what got us into the mess with Emily, isn't it?" she added, quite proud of herself for coming up with a new argument so spur of the moment. "You could have cleared the whole situation up in five minutes had you properly explained to her it was a mistake." A sudden feeling of disloyalty to Christopher made her insides twinge, and she ran her fingers over her ring to steady herself. "Granted, that ended up being a rather good mess, what with helping her find peace and stopping Barkis from hurting anyone else. . .but the point still stands." She looked back at Victor. "Would it really hurt to tell Alice how you feel? Knowing someone loves her might give her something else to fight for when it comes to struggling for her sanity."

"Or it might scare her into thinking I'm about to suffer a premature, unnatural demise," Victor snapped back. "And then she might – she might–"

His voice faded as his head drooped, but the words hung in the air, loud enough without being said: _She might leave me. _

_Just like you did._

The sudden attack of guilt made Victoria sick to her stomach. No – the East End _wasn't _to blame for her former beloved's state, was it? It was her vanishing in the middle of the night right after Emily had gone on, making him think that everyone he'd ever loved would – "Oh Victor," she said, hearing the break in her voice but not being able to do a thing about it. "Are you afraid she'll – abandon you?"

"It's not your fault I feel like that," Victor said immediately, looking her straight in the eyes. "I understand it wasn't your choice to be dragged away, nor that you could know I wasn't dead when all you had to go on was Pastor Galswell's rantings about my soul being damned. And I'm certainly not going to blame Emily for moving on once her business on – or below – Earth was done. But–" He pressed his lips together, as he if was afraid he'd cry if he spoke too soon. "Victoria, she already leaves me unwillingly every time Wonderland calls her back. If she was to leave me deliberately, even in an attempt to protect me – I don't think my heart could take it." His eyes fell back to the floor. "When I realized both you and Emily were lost to me forever, I shut down almost entirely – and I'd barely gotten a chance to fall in love with either of you. With Alice. . . ." His hands squeezed together, knuckles going whiter than white. "I don't know what will happen. I just know I don't want to go through that pain again."

God, he looked just like a puppy who'd been kicked so many times it wouldn't know what to do if kindness replaced the boot. Victoria reached over the table to put her hand on his. "I understand," she whispered. "But Victor. . .I don't want you to be alone all your life, wishing you'd said something either. You told me she's your best friend. Isn't it possible she cares enough about you not to dissolve your friendship over this? Even if she doesn't return your feelings?"

Victor's only response to that was a tired shrug. "It's a moot point at the moment anyway. I don't dare tell her while her mind rages like this. Having something else to worry about might cause her to topple right over the edge back into catatonia – and I will _not_ be responsible for her going back to Rutledge," he added, voice firm.

There was no way she was going to argue with that. "All right," Victoria said, giving up the struggle for now. "But – at least consider talking to her once she's coherent again." She put on her best pleading look. "Please. I know the risk is great to you, but – the reward could be even greater."

"I –" Victor swallowed, struggling to resist, but seemed unable to refuse her doe-like eyes. Manipulative, perhaps, but if it got him to be less stupid. . . . "I'll think about it," he promised.

"Good." Victoria pulled back, abruptly remembering that they were supposed to have been drinking something during this little argument. Whoops – mark another tally in the 'less than perfect hostess' column. "And now your tea's surely gone cold – let me pour you a fresh cup," she said apologetically, moving to empty the one in front of him. A smile slipped onto her lips as she remembered an old question. "I've been wondering how you take it ever since you visited us before."

That managed to get a laugh out of him. "Plenty of milk and lots of sugar," he informed her. "Satisfied?"

"For the moment," Victoria said, heading toward the bathroom sink with the cold liquid. "Though I don't think I'll really be unless those three come back with either Alice or some information on her whereabouts."

Victor nodded with a sigh. "Same here, Victoria. Same here."

* * *

"Safe trip back."

"Thank you, Victoria," Victor said, shaking her hand. "Enjoy your visit to London. I'm sorry my overly-complicated life intruded."

"Oh, please, it was no trouble," Victoria assured him. "I hope they find her soon."

"We'll be working around the clock, Mrs. White," Constable Hightopp said, touching his hat. "Can't leave the poor girl to her own devices, not like this."

"I appreciate it, Constable," Victor said, trying to smile. It came out rather stiff. "Thank you again for all your help – all of you."

"I'm just sorry I couldn't keep her in one spot," Alan said, rubbing his eye.

"No, it's all right, I know how she gets. You did the best you could, I'm sure of it. Don't let it trouble you any further."

"You're positive you won't come with us for supper?" Victoria asked. "The _Ship and Turtle_ is said to have excellent turtle soup, and I'm sure a good meal would help relax you."

Victor shook his head. "I do appreciate the offer, Victoria, truly, but – not even the best turtle soup will help my nerves right now. Besides, if I'm away too long Dr. Bumby will be even more cross with me than usual, and I'd rather _not_ have to listen to him scold me like a five-year-old again."

Victoria nodded reluctantly. "All right. Perhaps we'll see each other again before we go."

"Perhaps. Again, enjoy your visit. Good to meet you again, Mr. White," he added with a nod at Christopher. "Tell your old comrades 'hello' from me."

"I will," Christopher said, shaking Victor's hand. "And I sincerely hope Alice finds her way back home before too long."

"Thank you," Victor said, voice low. "I do too."

With that, he and Constable Hightopp left. Victoria watched them make their way down the hall, then closed the door and let her head thump against it. "Why is it we always meet under the most awkward of circumstances?"

Christopher placed a comforting hand on her back. "I'm sorry, Victoria. I wish I could guarantee you a pleasant visit with him for a change."

"Well, it wasn't exactly _unpleasant_, just – first I thought he was dead, then I find out he's living in a home for mentally-ill children. . . ." Victoria turned around to face her husband. "Every time I see him, he seems to be in a worse situation than before! It's not fair, that's all. Things were supposed to get better for him, not worse!"

"Pardon me for saying so, ma'am, but – not everyone is as open-minded as you are," Alan said, pulling at his jacket.

"Yes, I know that now," Victoria growled, her passions inflamed again. "How dare his parents–"

"Now, now, none of that," Christopher said, wrapping his arm around her. "There's very little we can do, beyond confront this Dr. Bumby ourselves. . .and judging from what Victor said about him while we were out doing that last scour of the streets, his response would be to attempt to throw _you_ into Rutledge."

"I know," Victoria grumbled. "I probably just barely avoided the madhouse before the dead interrupted my wedding breakfast. I guess I can see why the Van Dorts sent him away, even if I hate them for it. And it does no good parading the news in front of people who simply will not listen. I told Victor we'd give him the money he needs to pay his way out of the city, but he won't leave without Alice, and she – well, she _needs_ the help of a good psychiatrist. I'm not sure that man is Dr. Bumby, but still. . . ."

"She certainly needs someone," Alan agreed. "If you'd seen the way she was carrying on in the suite, you'd agree. I don't know if she's all that dangerous so long as you keep her away from the cutlery, but a menace to herself? That I can buy."

"I'm afraid I can too – Victor himself confessed to it," Victoria mumbled. "She was just so nice when I met her. . .and Victor. . . ." She stopped, wondering if it was really right to tell even her husband.

Christopher, however, gave her a knowing grin. "I do believe he's over you now, Victoria."

That was why she loved this man – his talent of getting her to laugh no matter how depressing the situation. "So you noticed it too."

"The whole of London probably knows," Christopher said. "The way he pines over her, the glint in his eye when she's on his mind, the look on his face whenever her name passes his lips. . .the poor fellow's practically mad himself with love. A shame she's in no fit state to appreciate it."

"He didn't want to tell her," Victoria confessed, shaking her head. "He didn't come out and say it, but he seemed to think he wasn't worthy of her."

"Not worthy of a madwoman?" Alan said, blinking. "Master Van Dort doesn't think very well of himself, does he?"

"I'm inclined to blame his parents for that as well," Victoria said with a scowl, before letting her face drop into more depressed lines. "And he was afraid that if he confessed his feelings, she'd–" her eyes went to the floor. "– leave."

Christopher's grip on her tightened. "Victoria, that wasn't your fault."

"I know, I know – he said he didn't blame me either," Victoria said, looking up at her husband. "But the fact remains that my suddenly vanishing has to play a part in him feeling like that. I can't help but feel guilty. And it's worse because I don't know how to help him anymore."

Christopher was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he said, "If you want, we could stay in London a bit longer than we planned. It's not like I can't afford another couple of weeks in the hotel." Victoria tilted her head, puzzled. "My old friends won't be expecting us to call on them every moment of the day, either. Perhaps we could – send out a few inquiries of our own?"

That brought a smile to Victoria's face. "I would like that. Oh, Christopher, you're far too good a man."

"Nonsense – I'm just someone who enjoys a happy ending." He grinned at her. "And a good bowl of turtle soup. Shall we?"

"We shall," Victoria nodded, fetching her coat. "And perhaps if we're lucky Alice will be causing a scene in the kitchen."

"That has to be the strangest sentence ever to start with 'And perhaps if we're lucky.'"

Victoria giggled. "Well, I'm afraid that's what you get for marrying me. Any regrets?"

Christopher pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "None whatsoever."

The End


End file.
